A Brush with Fate
by NecroLiv01
Summary: Salem has suffered from tragedy all her life. As a result, she shuts down her emotions, never letting anyone too close. Somehow, a mysterious stranger named Jimin is the only one who can break through her defenses...but she doesn’t want him to. Will he succeed in capturing Salem’s heart?


**A/N: This story takes place in an alternate universe. The characters in this story do not in any way represent any real people, even if they are based off of real people. This is a work of fiction.**

 **Rated T for language.**

 **I'm writing this for fun. Let me know what you think. Updates will be sporadic.**

I walked into the room holding my breath, afraid that I'd lose my grip on my nerves if I released it. As a few dozen faces came into my view, I counted to three repeatedly in my head, trying not to overthink the situation. I'd always hated public speaking, so hosting a reading of my very own book felt like a daunting task.

"Hi there! Hello," I murmured as I shook various hands, never making eye contact with anyone for more than a second. "Thank you so much for coming."

"Okay, that's enough for now."

Thank heavens for Melissa. I felt my heart rate decrease as I watched her march to the front of the crowd, separating them from me. She must have seen how stressed I'd been getting and intervened before it could get worse.

"Ms. Miles is going to read a chapter from her book, _A Bed of Roses_ , and then you will all get a chance to get your copies signed," Melissa informed them, easily gathering their attention. She was one of the most even-tempered people I'd ever met, but also the fiercest. It made people naturally listen to her.

The owner of the shop hosting the reading, a blonde woman in her mid-fifties, showed me to the podium she'd set up for me and the crowd filled the fold-out chairs in a matter of minutes. I quickly and awkwardly tried to thank everyone for coming again, choking on my words halfway through my sentence. I forced myself to take a deep breath and then read part of my very own published book to the audience.

When I was reading, I didn't feel nearly as nervous. I was saying my own words, yes, but they felt like my character's words, so it didn't feel as personal as what simply ran through my head. I forgot about the people listening to me as I read, getting lost in my own tale. Before I knew it, I'd finished the chapter. If it weren't for the applause that erupted during my pause, I would have kept reading the next chapter.

I was pleasantly surprised to find I was getting a standing ovation. My chest felt warm as a chuckle escaped my lips and my cheeks burned. They'd honestly enjoyed it - was this too good to be true?

A flash of purple in the crowd caught my attention and I trained my sight on the only figure still sitting in the room. He was a young man, maybe twenty-four or twenty-five, with hair so bright it was almost silver. His dark eyes were glued to my face as he slightly leaned forward, his expression unreadable. His dark purple suit gleamed where the light touched it.

I don't know what it was about him, but his presence made me slip out of my control. My hands shook in front of me as I closed my book. My fingers slipped and the book slammed shut a little too loudly. There was a sudden rushing sound in my ears, combined with the sound of my heaving breath, blocking out the sounds of the room.

When Melissa's hands grasped my shoulders, I flinched, but I quickly realized where I was and made myself stop. I absolutely loathed being the center of attention.

Being the best manager anyone could ask for, Melissa took over addressing the crowd as I took my place in a rather comfortable chair at a mahogany desk on one side of the room. Everyone lined up on the opposite side of the desk as me, their copies of my book ready in their hands.

I followed the script Melissa and I had put together exactly:

"Hello, I'm Salem. It's nice to meet you. What's your name?" And then I would steer the conversation toward the book as much as possible. If anyone brought up my family, all I had to do was signal Melissa and she'd get rid of them.

As a teenage girl reclaimed her now-autographed book and left the desk, my eyes scanned the room absentmindedly, finding the young man in purple again. He was standing this time, brushing his fingers against the titles of the books sitting on the bookshelf in front of him, but he was looking toward the front door. Something about the way he was standing made me think he was getting ready to hide from someone.

"Um...Salem?"

I looked up to find a woman a little older than me holding her book out toward me. "Yeah, sorry. I spaced out there for a second. What's your name?"

I lost myself in the script again until a group of young people peeked in the doorway, causing the bell on the door to chime. I followed their searching eyes toward purple man, who had ducked behind a bookshelf, out of sight. The group murmured amongst themselves a moment before leaving again.

There were only five more people in line. I felt nervous as I watched the purple-clad man absently browse at books, pretending to be interested in them. I forced myself to keep my smile on my face as I finished greeting the last of the group. I called to Melissa as the last person, an older man with big glasses and a big leather coat, approached the desk. He and Melissa reached me at the same time.

"Hi, sir, just one second and you'll have all my attention," I told the man before addressing Melissa. I kept my voice low as I explained, "There's a guy over there..."

"I know," she immediately replied. "I'm already on it. There's a squad car just outside."

I nodded, feeling a little more relaxed as I returned my attention to the man in the big coat. "I'm sorry about that. What's your name?"

"Walter." The man stated simply, his tone gruff.

I was a little taken aback at his attitude, but I kept my composure. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Walter. I'm Salem."

"Oh, I know," he replied, breathing a little heavily. "I know _exactly_ who you are."

His menacing tone had the hairs on my arms standing up and my heart hammering in my chest. To my dismay, Melissa had walked away to join the shopkeeper in monitoring the man in the purple suit.

I swallowed and asked, "So, uh, how would you like me to make this out?"

I held my hands out for him to hand me his book, which he held strapped to his chest. I was vaguely aware of Melissa and the shopkeeper making their way toward the young man as Walter suddenly released his grip on his book, allowing it to clatter on the surface of the desk. The sound captured Melissa's interest and she looked just in time for me to silently signal her to come back with my facial expression. She looked confused, but I didn't have time to do anything more.

"And I know _exactly_ what you did."

With the book out of the way, I could clearly see the handgun the man had holstered in his unzipped jacket. I screamed as he reached for it, a knee-jerk reaction, before making myself calm down, something I had a lot of experience in. I didn't have time to really think, so I went on instinct, ducking behind the desk for cover.

A shot went off so close to me that my ears started to ring. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, willing me to get up and run or fight. I knew that sometimes those options weren't the best, though. Sometimes being patient is the difference between life or death. I'd learned that the hard way.

I heard a scuffle, but I couldn't make out what was happening through the ringing that refused to go away. Another shot rang out, farther from me this time, so it didn't hurt my ears as much. The bell on the door to the shop rang and then people were yelling over each other, to the point that they just became noise.

I stayed under the desk, laying on my back so that I could kick with both my feet if I needed to. My hands were shaking uncontrollably as I held them in fists next to my head. When Melissa's face appeared in the opening to the crawl space under the desk, I started to kick out of instinct, just barely managing to stop myself in time.

"Oh, God," I breathed, wanting to sob. I was good at holding it in, though. "Oh, God. Are you okay?"

I darted out from under the desk and into Melissa's arms. She patted my back as she assured me that she was okay. "I want to know if you're okay, though."

For some reason, those words had become a sort of trigger for me. Asking me if I was okay was like flipping a switch that made me turn off my emotions. Maybe it was because I would never really be okay.

I felt the switch flip, unable to control it, and backed out of Melissa's embrace. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and nodded. "I'm not hurt. What happened?"

I surveyed the room. There was a police officer dressed in all black standing at the entrance to the shop, guarding the door. Another was in a corner of the room, speaking with the guy in purple, who was gesturing vaguely with his hands as he talked. The store itself looked exactly the same, save for the bullet hole in the desk and the one section of books on a bookshelf that had been unfortunate enough to take what I assumed was the second shot I'd heard. No one seemed to be hurt, but I couldn't see the gunman anymore.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Melissa replied, wrapping her arms around herself. She was so confident and bold that I sometimes forgot she got scared, too.

"He had the gun in his jacket, hidden behind his book," I told her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. "I ducked under the desk before he could pull it out."

Melissa nodded, pinching the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb. "I saw him pull the gun out and _freaked_. I froze up completely."

I shrugged. "It happens."

She turned to look at me, giving me a wry smile, one corner of her mouth turned up. "Yeah, you would know." Her smile disappeared and she continued, "We're lucky that guy was in here. He charged the dude with the gun, kept him from shooting anyone before the cops came in."

I followed her gaze to none other than the man in purple, the one who had captured my attention all night. He was still with the cop, but he was silent as the cop spoke to him. His eyes were already trained on me when I looked toward him and we locked eyes.

 _Who are you?_ I thought, feeling an odd sense of...well, _almost_ deja vu, but not quite. A feeling like I was being seen - _really_ being seen - for the first time in...years.

"Who is he?" I asked.

Melissa shook her head. "No idea."

"And the shooter?"

Before she could reply, we were interrupted by the sound of the door opening again. A man in a brown suit with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick beard made a beeline for Melissa and me.

"Evening, Ms. Miles, Ms. Evers. I'm Detective Price; I'll be handling this case. We apologize for this incident. It was a failure on our end," he explained in almost a rush. "We should have had someone detailing you inside."

"It's okay, Detective," I murmured. "No one was hurt. I'm sure the shopkeeper will be upset about the destruction to her property, though."

I'd been glancing at the bullet hole and destroyed books, trying to momentarily ignore the inevitable odd look I'd get from him, but there was no avoiding it. Sure enough, there it was, plastered all over his face as his eyes scanned me up and down. He was wondering how someone could remain so stoic, so emotionless after such an incident.

I couldn't blame him, though. He couldn't understand.

"Anyway, who was that man?" I asked, uncomfortable in the silence that had been lingering.

Detective Price cleared his throat and explained, "His name is Walter Greene. Seems to be some sort of conspiracy theorist. He thinks you're responsible for - "

"No need to go into details," I interrupted, not wanting to hear it out loud. "I think I already know what he thinks. You have him in custody?"

Another pause, another odd look. "Yes, he's on his way to a cell now. Do you need any medical attention?"

One emotion that was always hard to block out? Anger.

I felt my eyes burning as I bore my gaze into the Detective's. His eyes were dull at a glance, but up close and upon further inspection, they were a beautiful mixture of green, light brown, and gold. They looked warm and woodsy.

I took _my_ time examining _him_. From the look on his face, he enjoyed being scrutinized as much as I did. "No," I finally answered, enunciating each syllable. "I do not need any medical attention. Melissa?"

I turned to find her smirking as she watched us, quickly turning her face down to hide it as she replied, "No, no. I'm good."

I jerked my head once in a nodding motion. "No medical attention is necessary for us. Now, tell me, who is that man?"

Detective Price glanced at the man in purple and then back at me. "Oh, he's just a kid who happened to be here at the time."

I felt my eyebrows furrow. "A kid who saved our lives, the way Melissa tells it. What's his name?"

As Detective Price opened his mouth to answer, his phone rang, stopping him. He excused himself to answer the call after glancing at the caller ID.

I turned back to Melissa. One good thing about getting angry is that it helps flip the switch back, to feel again. "Are you sure you're okay? That was insane."

She shrugged. "Yeah, but what's one more insane experience on the list of insane shit I've been through?"

I laughed and hugged her, suddenly overwhelmed with happiness that she hadn't been hurt. "I'm sorry I roped you into this insanity."

"No, it's all good," she laughed as I pulled back to look at her. She looked like she meant it. "You're worth it."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "You have bad taste." When she gasped, I laughed and added, "Thank you, though."

"Any time," she answered before her eyes trained on something behind me. "Heads up."

I turned around to find "the kid" who had saved us approaching. I was surprised to feel anxious as I watched him come closer to me, my hands feeling sweaty. He stopped two feet from me and held out his hand.

"Salem Miles."

I expected him to say more, but he didn't, continuing to smile softly at me. Up close, I could see that his skin was the color of and as smooth as the inside of an almond. His lips were plump and rosy, a stark contrast to his paleness. I didn't usually think of men as _beautiful_ , but he certainly was.

What captivated me the most, though, were his eyes. It wasn't the color of them, though they were a deep, endless dark brown. Instead, it was his pupils. They weren't perfectly round, like most people's are - they were rough around the edges, jagged. As he looked at me, they contracted with the light, the edges looking like crumpled ribbon.

"Yes," I answered. "And you are?"

He grinned wider for a moment, flashing teeth, before looking down at his hands. He flipped his right hand out, balancing a bookmark between his index and middle fingers.

"I'm Jimin Park," he murmured as he held the bookmark out toward me. He gazed at me, saying nothing until I'd taken it from him. "Come find me when there are less..." He glanced around. "...eyes around."

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the shop, the cops allowing him out pleasantly. I watched him until he was out of sight of the shop windows before finally looking at the bookmark he'd given me.

 _Jimin Park. RnR Bar - 10PM._

It was written beneath the border of a tropical beach with white sand and palm trees. I flipped it over to find a mirror image of the border, but nothing else was written beneath it.

"What is it?" Melissa asked, coming to my side to look at it.

I held it out to her, allowing her to get a closer look. "He wants me to meet him."

"There's no way I'm letting you out of my sight tonight," Melissa automatically replied, protective, as always.

"No," I waved her off, surprising myself. "No, it's okay. I think I'll meet him."

Melissa scoffed. "Are you kidding me right now, Salem? Someone just tried to _shoot_ you, girl. You do not need to go out alone."

"I won't," I assured her. "I'll get Reese to come with me. I don't want to keep you up and Reese won't mind coming."

After Detective Price got our statements, I finally got Melissa to go home and I made my way to the small apartment I was renting. It was downtown, just down the street from the RnR bar that had just opened up. You'd have to be blind to miss the advertisements plastered on the billboards and buses around here announcing its grand opening, which was a month ago.

I called Reese, my bodyguard and oldest friend, and he agreed to escort me to the bar. Reese was a retired police officer who had been friends with my parents before they died. He'd done everything he could to help me once they were gone and when he offered to be my personal bodyguard, I couldn't refuse. He felt like an uncle to me, the only family I had left.

I took a long bath once I got home, allowing the warm water to unknot the muscles in my shoulders, before pulling on a pair of yoga pants and a long-sleeved black shirt. I let my hair fall down to my shoulders, releasing it from the clip I'd put it in for the reading. My hair always seemed to change color in my eyes, sometimes looking more brown, others looking more red. Tonight, however, it looked like a true auburn: dark brown with a strong red undertone.

When Reese arrived, I quickly made him a meatloaf sandwich and myself a salad for dinner. We sat in front of the TV while we ate. Edward Scissorhands was on. Reese had a weird love of Johnny Depp.

"Why are you going out so late?" he asked after taking a sip of his iced tea.

I shrugged, not wanting to go into it, but he leveled me with a look only he and my dad had mastered and I spilled. "Don't freak, but someone tried to shoot me at the reading."

I watched his bright blue eyes widen for a moment before he hung his head, shaking it slightly. "And why am I just now hearing about this?"

"Because it was nothing," I answered, setting my fork down. "Just a crazy guy who believes I'm guilty. It's nothing new."

"Nothing new," he grumbled as he stood up. As he took his plate to the kitchen, he continued, "I love you, kid, but I sure don't understand you. You need to stop this. You've been lucky - hell, you've been _blessed_ with as many times as you've dodged death, but you're not impervious."

I sighed, not wanting to go over this again. "I can't just hole up in my apartment all day, closed off from the world. Everyone faces risks every day. I can't let the risk of getting hurt keep me from living."

Reese dusted some crumbs off the side of his button-down white shirt as he shuffled back in the room. "It's not that black and white. You don't have to hole up here, but you don't have to put yourself directly in the spotlight, either." He finished dusting his shirt and looked up at me, sighing as he examined my face. The light above him reflected off the top of his bald head. "I'm glad you're safe. I just want you to be careful. Now what happened earlier? Did the cops get him?"

I nodded. "He's in jail, but they weren't the ones who stopped him, apparently. There was a guy in the bookstore who stopped him from shooting anyone. He's actually who I'm going to meet."

As I took my utensils to the kitchen, Reese followed me, pulling on his suit coat. "You're meeting a man?"

I turned around to raise an eyebrow at him. "And what is _that_ tone?"

He looked away from me, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm just surprised, is all. I can't remember the last time you went on a date."

"It's not a date," I clarified. "I didn't get a chance to really talk to him earlier and he, uh, asked me to meet him in a little bit."

"What's his name?"

"Jimin Park."

I made my way to the door and pulled on a black zip-up hoodie, leaving it open. Reese followed as I filled him in on the evening's plans. He would accompany me inside the bar and then find his own spot to keep an eye on me while I met with Jimin. Once we were on the sidewalk, Reese offered me his arm and we walked arm-in-arm to the bar, talking about the new Halloween reboot that we were both excited to see.

The bar was surprisingly large, consisting of two floors. Half the first floor was taken up by a large dance floor with hanging colored lights above it. The bar was to one side of the dance floor, running the length of the wall, and a few tables and booths lined the opposite wall. All I could see of the second floor, which overlooked the first floor, were a few small tables set up against the balcony railing.

It was five minutes to ten as we walked around the bar. I looked for Jimin's silver-white hair in every booth and table, but he wasn't there. I supposed he could have been on the dance floor, but it was packed with so many people, it was nearly impossible to tell.

The second floor was only accessible by a small staircase in one corner of the room, guarded by a tall man dressed in black and dark blue, the bar's theme colors. A small sign hanging above him read "VIP Only". I could probably get in if I just told the bouncer my name, but I didn't feel like garnering any more attention this evening.

I stood near one of the tables, about to give up and sit down, when I heard a short whistle over the music. I looked around, finding no one until it sounded again. I looked up to see Jimin hanging over the second floor railing, smirking down at me.

I held up a hand and gave him a small smile before he nodded his head toward the staircase. We met the bouncer at the same time, Jimin telling him something too low for me to hear. Whatever it was, the man stepped to the side, allowing me up the stairs.

"I'm glad you came," Jimin said, raising his voice over the music. He held his hand out to me and I stared at it for a moment, struggling with the decision of whether to take it or not. I normally didn't like physical contact with people I didn't know, but I strangely found myself wanting to take this stranger's hand for no apparent reason.

Just as I was about to lift my hand to meet his, he dropped his hand and turned to continue leading me up the stairs, falling silent as he did.

The second floor was like the first, only on a smaller scale and much darker. The lack of lighting made the place feel more intimate, which was probably why there were so many couples making out and groping each other up here. Jimin silently led me through the crowd to the back of the room, where an empty booth marked with a "reserved" label sat.

Jimin slid into the booth, gesturing me to follow before swiping the label off the tabletop and setting it in the seat beside him. The booth was certainly extravagant - the cushions were soft and covered in a dark blue lace pattern. Lights designed to look like candles hung on the wall just above the booth, giving off a warm, orangeish glow, as if being near a fire. It was shaped like a half-circle, the table specifically formed to match it geometrically. The table itself was painted black with dark blue trimming.

I sat a few feet from Jimin to his left. As soon as we were settled, a young woman with long black hair appeared out of nowhere. She was wearing the same uniform as the bartenders downstairs and had all of her attention on Jimin, beaming at him.

"Good evening, Mr. Park," she said evenly. "How are you and your guest?"

"We're good, Amanda," Jimin responded just as softly. "Thank you. I'll be having scotch and my friend will have..."

"A White Russian, please," I said, giving Amanda a small smile.

She held her hands in front of her as she nodded once. "I'll be right back with those."

Once she was gone, I gave Jimin all of my attention. He hadn't changed out of his purple suit, which popped vividly against the blue lace of the booth cushions. I waited for him to speak, but, like in the book shop, he stayed silent, observing me quietly.

"You wanted to meet." I finally spoke, feeling unnerved by his gaze.

He smiled to himself before leaning back in his seat, getting comfortable. "Yes, I wanted to make sure you were okay."

I studied his demeanor, trying to figure him out, but I was perplexed...and intrigued by him. "I am."

There. Maybe if I mirrored him, gave him a taste of his own medicine by saying little, he would have to speak up.

Jimin locked eyes with me, one corner of his mouth turning up. "Why did you come here?"

"Why did you invite me here?"

Again, he went silent as he observed me before suddenly sitting up again. "Thank you, Amanda."

Our waitress appeared with our drinks just as he spoke. She simply nodded as she sat our drinks in front of us, a smile plastered to her face. "My pleasure. Can I get you anything else?"

"We're fine for now," Jimin murmured, dismissing her. He then turned to me and said, "You were scared."

"What?"

He licked his lips before saying again, "You were scared. Terrified."

My eyes had been glued to him the whole time, but now I looked away to sip from my drink. I needed the moment to compose my thoughts. When I was done, I turned back to him and asked, "When I was being shot at?"

"No," he answered before taking a drink himself. "When you were reading. Well, _before_ you were reading and then after."

My guard went up even further than it already had been. "What are you after?"

Jimin laughed, surprising me. "Relax, I'm not after anything. I just want to talk to you."

"About how scared I was of public speaking?"

The smile disappeared in an instant. "So you _were_ scared?"

"What does it matter?" I asked, trying to avoid answering. "And why are you so interested in my fears?"

"But you weren't scared when you were being shot at." His voice had gone low, deep. "How is that?"

Alarms were going off in my head, but I made myself keep a calm composure and asked, "Did you know that man was going to try to shoot me?"

He laughed, surprising me yet again. "No. I came to the shop to listen to your reading. I saw the gun in the guy's jacket; he was sitting right next to me. I didn't know if he was going to do anything with it or not, so I watched him. When he reached for the gun, I rushed him."

I thought about that for a moment before asking, "Then why were you acting so shady? Hiding behind bookcases and glancing at the door all the time?"

"I shook my friends," he answered before taking another drink. "They wanted me to go out with them, but I wanted to hear your reading. I was looking out for them."

I recalled the group of young people who had peeked into the shop while I was signing books. What he was saying was still strange, but it made sense. I took a longer pull of my drink.

"You never answered my question," he pointed out. "You're not scared of being shot at, but you are scared of public speaking. How is that?"

Who was this odd person? Why did he have such an interest in me? I wanted answers to my questions, so I continued the conversation. "You think I'm not scared of being shot at?"

"You aren't."

Jimin was looking straight into my eyes, his face serious. He wasn't talking like he wanted answers anymore. Now he sounded like he already had the answers and just wanted to hear me say it.

I examined him, completely unsure of what to say or do. Part of me wanted to leave, exhausted of this confusing conversation, but I wanted to know who Jimin was and that wouldn't happen if I left.

"I... I don't know," I finally breathed.

He smiled, pleased with my answer. "Do you think it has to do with your past? With Peter - "

I stood up, slamming my hand on the table as I did so, cutting him off. "I knew it. You're a journalist. I hope you got what you wanted because you aren't getting anything else out of me."

I turned to leave, but he caught my wrist, holding me back. "I'm not a journalist and I'm not fishing for anything. I won't bring it up again if you don't want me to. Stay."

I hesitated briefly. "Tell me what you want from me."

"I told you," he replied, looking up into my face. "I want to talk to you."

I bent down closer to him, our faces inches apart. "What do you _really_ want?"

Jimin looked back and forth between each of my eyes. "A date."

I stepped back. "A...date?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "A date with you, Salem."

Many things flew through my mind in response, but I settled on, "There are better ways to ask someone on a date."

"I'd say that's subjective." He slid further into the booth, back to his original position, and gestured to my seat. "Please, stay."

I rocked my weight from one foot to the other, thinking it over before slowly sliding back into my seat in the booth. Jimin smiled as I did, taking a drink of his scotch.

"Why should I date you?" I asked without thinking.

"Do you want to know more about me, Salem?"

 _Obviously,_ I thought. I only nodded, though.

"I was born in Busan in South Korea, but my family immigrated here when I was four. My dad became a broker and made a lot of money, which solved some of our problems, but gave us others. My dad started working all hours of the day and most nights. My mom found out he was cheating and threatened to leave, but he begged her not to, so she stayed.

"They eventually agreed to stay married, but see other people. We have multiple homes around the country and she bounces around them all, doing tons of charity work. My siblings are in school in Philadelphia, so I only see them on holidays.

"As for me... I went to a dance school until I injured my knee and couldn't dance anymore. My father's been helping me since and I've been doing some odd jobs here and there, but... I'm just living, for now."

I was stunned into silence. This was the most Jimin had ever spoken to me and he was being so open after being so closed that I felt like I was suffering from whiplash. He'd basically just condensed his life into a string of a few sentences.

"There's got to be more than that," I murmured.

He smiled to himself. "There is." He looked up at me again. "But it's your turn. Tell me about you."

I started to laugh and, for the first time, got a normal reaction from him. Jimin's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at me in confusion. His expression made me laugh harder and it took me a minute to compose myself.

"I..." One last giggle escaped. "I'm sorry, it's just that... Well, you made it look so easy, but I have no idea where to start. Obviously, you already know about - you know what I've been through already." He nodded slowly. "So, there's that. I don't really want to..."

"We don't have to talk about that," he murmured, lifting a hand to signal our waitress. "Tell me about your writing."

I took a steadying breath, thankful that he'd directed the conversation to a topic I was comfortable with. "I love it, but I never feel like I've gotten a story _just right._ Have you read my book?"

Jimin nodded just as Amanda appeared, carrying a new drink for both of us. She took our old glasses, exchanging them with the new ones, and again told us to let her know if we needed anything else before hopping to other tables.

"I read it," Jimin said after taking a sip of his new glass of scotch. "I enjoyed it. Ivy and Flynn are like star-crossed lovers who told the universe to go fuck itself."

I laughed, unable to help myself. "I've never heard them described quite like that before."

Jimin laughed, too. "Honestly, though, the story is great. How did you come up with it?"

"I dreamed it."

One of his eyebrows rose. "Like Ivy?"

I giggled. "Unfortunately, no."

"Unfortunately?"

I looked down into my drink. "I wish I could escape to another world when I closed my eyes, but I can't."

"Another world wouldn't be able to handle you."

I looked up to find Jimin searching my face for something. I didn't know what and before I could try to figure it out, the sound of laughter floated toward us, getting louder with each passing second.

I turned just in time to see a girl about our age, maybe a little younger, dressed in a short plaid skirt and white t-shirt. Her long blonde hair was pulled into two neat ponytails on each side of her head, each tied with a blue ribbon, matching her skirt. She was staggering toward our booth while looking behind her, laughing at someone or something.

"Jimin, I have to - Oh. Sorry. I didn't realize you had company," the girl said as she reached us.

Jimin's eyes were furiously dark as he stared at the girl, but he recovered his smile as he introduced us. "Jenny, this is Salem. Salem, this is my friend, Jenny."

Jenny's attention seemed to be focused on Jimin, but I felt the need to be courteous. "Hello, Jenny. It's nice to meet you."

At the sound of my voice, Jenny jumped slightly before whipping her head over to look at me. Her hazel eyes went wide and her face drained of color. Jimin cleared his throat, catching her attention and she seemed to recover from whatever spell she'd been under. She looked back at me. "Salem?" It almost sounded like she didn't believe that was my name.

"Yes..." I replied, drawing the word out in my confusion. I looked back and forth between Jenny and Jimin. "What just happened?"

Jenny suddenly laughed and explained, "Oh, don't mind me. I suffer from deja vu a lot. Makes me space out. I'm gonna go now, but it was nice to meet you, Salem." She turned to Jimin. "And Jimin, uh, good luck with that."

She didn't give him a chance to respond before strutting back the way she came, weaving from side-to-side a little.

"What was that about?" I asked.

Jimin glanced the direction Jenny had gone briefly before telling me, "Like she said, don't mind her."

I stared at him, waiting for him to really explain what that exchange was about, but I was disappointed. I calmly pushed my glass to the middle of the table. "Right, then. Thank you for the drinks, but I think I should be going now."

"Wait."

One word, but it stopped me in my tracks and I didn't know why. I turned to face him, finding him closer than I thought, only a foot away. "Or what?"

I don't know why I said it. I didn't think about it and I didn't particularly want to know his answer. In a way, the thought of it scared me. But it was already out and there was no taking it back.

Jimin, on the other hand, didn't look fazed. He slid closer to me and whispered, "You can go, if you want. But you'll be back."

"What makes you think you know me so well?" I asked.

He leaned closer, so close that I could feel his breath on my face. "Don't I, though?"

"Answer the question."

I felt light of breath at how close he was, at how aware I was of our proximity. My skin felt almost like it was vibrating wherever it was near him. He leaned in even closer and my eyes closed of their own accord as I lifted my face. I waited for the touch of his lips against mine, but it never came.

"I thought you were leaving."

My eyes popped open and I found Jimin in the same spot, his face inches from mine. I was stunned at how stung I felt that he hadn't kissed me, but my anger overwhelmed any other emotion I felt.

"I am," I whispered, taking one more second to look at him before turning around and getting out of the booth. I didn't stop and I didn't turn around. I made a beeline for the stairs, doing my best to dodge the drunk people dancing clumsily everywhere, but they slowed me down considerably.

I'd only made it halfway through the room when I was grabbed by the wrist from behind. I didn't take any chances. As my attacker used my momentum against me to bring me back toward him, I brought up my elbow, trying to use my speed to hit him hard enough to stun him.

Jimin's free hand came up to stop my elbow from connecting, grabbing my arm and lowering it. As soon as it was out of the way, he pulled me close and kissed me. His hands came up to cup my face, holding me there as our lips moved together seamlessly. My body and my brain were in a battle: my brain was telling my body to slap Jimin while my body was melting, telling my brain to get lost. The hammering in my chest had me feeling like my torso was about to burst in half.

Though his lips pulled away from mine, his hands continued to rest right where they were, caressing my face. It was hard for me to catch my breath or think coherently, but I managed to whisper, "What was it that made you think kissing me was okay: my storming off or my attempted assault on you?"

"Both," he laughed. "I bring out such passion in you."

"Don't do it again," I warned.

Jimin pulled away just enough to take in my expression. "Why?"

I was horrified to realize I didn't have a real answer, that I'd actually _enjoyed_ the kiss. Why didn't I want it to happen again? Why did I have this strong compulsion to run away? I couldn't explain it.

When it was clear that I didn't have an answer, Jimin smiled. "Can you meet me here again tomorrow night?"

I shook my head, even with his hands still holding my face. "I don't think so."

"Do you already have plans?" he asked.

"No," I answered. "I just don't want to meet you."

His smile fell. "But we have a date."

"I never said yes to a date with you, Jimin," I reminded him. "I never gave you a definite answer."

He smiled again. "Then what do you say?"

I pulled out of his grasp, knocking his hands away from my face. " _No_ , of course! I... I-I need to go."

I headed for the stairs again, this time dodging the dancing figures in my way easily. I noticed a few people staring at me as I walked by, but I forgot them as soon as I saw them. All I wanted to do was get out of there.

When I reached the opposite side of the room, I drifted toward the railing overlooking the ground floor instead of the staircase. I had no idea why. Honestly, I wasn't really thinking about what I was doing. I was too busy replaying everything that had happened between me and Jimin.

I'd been absentmindedly scanning the crowd below me while I pondered and spotted Reese sitting at a table, eating a bag of peanuts as he watched me. He waved when he saw me and asked if I was okay with hand signals we used all the time. I gave him a thumbs up to let him know I was good. His presence had a calming effect on me, even from a distance. I took a deep breath and counted to three in my head.

And the switch flipped.

I have no idea why it happened. Normally, my "emotional switch", as I call it, only gets triggered when I've had too much to deal with at one time. I'd never had it flip on me when I was calming down; it always happened when I was freaking out. My therapists said it was a form of disassociation, that I found a way to shut my emotions down and hold them at arm's length. It made no sense that I'd want to shut them down when I was starting to feel better.

Regardless of the nonsense it made, it had happened and I felt completely fine, almost like another person. Not feeling my emotions gave me more confidence than drinking, without the sloppy side-effects, and I found myself wanting to stay a little longer.

I signaled to Reese that I would be a few more minutes. With a nod, he focused his attention on the people around him again, surveying them. I turned my back on him and sauntered my way back to the booth we'd been sitting at, even dancing a little as I passed the dance floor.

Jimin was sitting in my former seat, angled so that I could see his profile. He didn't see me until I was a few feet from him and when he turned around, I held my hand out in front of him, palm up.

"Dance with me."

He gave me a wry smile, finished his drink, and then took my hand. As I led him to the designated dance floor, he said over the music, "What changed your mind?"

I found a good place to stop and spun suddenly, almost causing Jimin to run into me. He was able to stop in time, though, settling with his hands on my hips.

"I didn't think about it," I explained as I wrapped my arms around his neck. "So I can't give you a reason."

The music had a good beat to it and I lost myself in the rhythm of our dance as Jimin and I swayed back and forth. I leaned forward and rested my head against his shoulder. I closed my eyes and focused on the feeling of his chest moving up and down as he breathed. We stayed like that for a long time.

Finally, I pulled away to look in his deep, dark eyes. "What time did you want to meet tomorrow?"

Though we'd broken apart, we had continued to sway, but Jimin came to a stop, his face serious as he looked down on me. I followed his lead and stood still, too.

He reached out and brushed his fingers against the side of my face. "You're so _different_ ," he whispered.

I dipped my head, trying to keep my smile to myself. "You have no idea."

Jimin lightly placed his hand under my chin and lifted my face to meet his. "I'll meet you here at six."

"It's a date."

I wrapped my arms around his neck again, pulling him close. I brushed my lips across his twice before pulling away. I ignored his reaching hands, stepping out of his way. "See you tomorrow."

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you think and if you'd like me to continue.**


End file.
